


The Game

by IdrisSmith



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Mary Watson Lives!, Mention of Torture by Drug, Not Beta'd, Sherlolly - Freeform, TFP Rewrite, canon divergence - the final problem, mention of drug, mention of drug use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-25
Updated: 2018-01-25
Packaged: 2019-03-09 09:51:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13478916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IdrisSmith/pseuds/IdrisSmith
Summary: When they enter the room, it wasn't just a coffin that awaited them. It was the horrifying image of Molly Hooper on the screen, coming down from a high and Sherlock had to race against time to save Molly from certain death.[tumblr prompt]





	The Game

**Author's Note:**

> Based on [this](https://whclocked.tumblr.com/post/170121136279/theleftpill-miabicicletta).

“Take me, hurt me instead. It was me you’re angry at, not her. Eurus please, let her go,” Sherlock begged. It was not in his nature to beg, but he didn’t care.

And with each passing moment, he felt as if all air was sucked out of his lungs. He was helpless, looking at the screen as Molly twisted and turn, coming down from the effects of the drug coursing through her body. He knew what it felt like, coming down from a high — he had done it many times. But her, he knew her well enough to know she had never so much taken any drugs for recreational purpose. The death of a family friend when she was young cemented her belief that using drugs other than for medical use would be a terrible idea.

She had slapped him then, when she saw what he was doing to himself. Of all people, he felt like he deserved getting that sort of treatment from her. Not her. She wasn’t suppose to suffer the way she did.

The heart he didn’t know he had was throwing assault onto his rib cage, twisting and turning metaphorically as he watched her shiver. She was a ghost of the woman he knew so well and it was all his fault.

“Ah-ah, Sherlock. Remember what you have to do,” Eurus’ voice came through the speaker and her image replacing the image of Molly, all bleary eyed and distant.

“Please, Eurus,” he slumped to the floor as the image once again turned to Molly.

He wasn’t even aware of how both Mycroft and John was looking at the image in horror before John breaking towards the cleverly disguised sealed door, more alert than he had ever been ever since Sherlock had known him while Mycroft emptied the content of his stomach all over again at the edge of the room.

“Let me out!” the former army doctor screamed. “I can help.”

The sound of John banging on the door and Sherlock begging intermingled with Mycroft coughing.

“Eurus, I’m begging you,” Sherlock pleaded.

No, not like this.

“You know the rules, Sherlock,” Eurus said in a sing-a-song voice. “Solve the puzzle and you’ll get to your precious pathologist before I shot her up again.”

Sherlock all but ran back to the table, glancing at the image of Molly before he went back to the puzzle. The next stage chosen was Mary Watson, his recently deceased friend. They had buried her in a closed casket because it as easier for John. Funerals are for the living anyway.

“What am I looking at?” he yelled at no one in particular.

John had stopped banging, coming to join Sherlock at the coffin filled with pictures and information on Mary neither of them had seen before. Mycroft, having dispelled the last of his breakfast was sitting against the wall, breathing heavily.

“Why Mary?” John asked, confused, though completely aware of how the life of a living, breathing woman was hanging on whether they could solve they mystery of a dead woman. A dead woman who was his wife.

Sherlock grunted, picking and tossing papers aside, mumbling to himself. He stopped when his eyes caught something. He hadn’t thought much of it back then, it didn’t seem to be all that important to have Molly dealt with Mary’s funeral arrangement. John was grieving and he was barely there for his daughter. On top of all that, he didn’t want to have anything to do with Sherlock, so details slipped passed him.

“John,” he said, holding up a paper. “Why was Mary not embalmed and you opted to have a close casket service?”

Surprised, the good doctor stuttered with his words. “I-It was in her will.”

“We both know Mary is not the type to be concerned about the environmental effects of embalming fluid and why deny Rosie one last look at her mother?” Sherlock asked, his tone accusing.

John looked offended he was accused of something he wasn’t sure of what it was. “Now, look here, Sherlock. I wasn’t a very good husband for Mary when she was alive, but I’d be damn if I couldn’t even honour her last will.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Sherlock said exasperatedly. “No embalming, closed casket and you weren’t involved in the planning.”

“What do you mean then?” John shouted.

The room blinked into redness again. Eurus’ image filled the screen, pushing Molly’s aside. Sherlock looked back at the screen, eyes wild with emotions he couldn’t quite contain.

“Thirty-seconds, Sherlock,” she told him in the same tune. “You have thirty-seconds left before Doctor Hooper is lost to you.”

“No! No! No!” Sherlock shouted. “Please, not her.”

The timer was running out, between him begging for his sister to stop and him trying to solver the mystery that was Mary Watson, time was almost up for Molly Hooper. He felt his chest tightened and his brain sending signals to the nerve endings on his person, alerting that he was in pain.

“She’s not dead,” Mycroft voice came. He was still slumped on the floor. “Mrs Watson is alive and well.”

Just like that the room went eerily silent. The blinking red light didn’t return and the timer stopped with two seconds left to spare. Both Sherlock and John turned to face Mycroft. Both were horrifyingly angry with the man but for different reasons.

“My wife is alive?” John asked, his voice laced with threat of bodily harm unto Mycroft.

While Sherlock’s tone was more reserved with the words, “you lied to me.”

Still not leaving his place on the floor, Mycroft looked towards Sherlock and John. “Mrs Watson’s life is in danger. We are trying to snuff out the buyers that managed to get a hold of information on her that was sold by Vivian Norbury to the highest bidder shortly before her confrontation with you.”

“You’re telling me you let us all suffer for months, thinking Mary’s dead when she’s not?” John hissed, fist clenched.

“And you put Molly’s life in danger for a secret?” Sherlock asked in turn in a terrifyingly calm tone.

Mycroft struggled to his feet, bracing himself against the wall and wiped his dry hand on his breast pocket. He took a deep breath before carefully, and surely, make his way towards Sherlock and John.

“Molly,” Mycroft began to explain, “was the one who faked her death certificate.”

It was a flurry of movement and Mycroft was on the ground. Sherlock followed, punching his brother with all the strength he could muster. He was wild and it took all of John Watson to pull Sherlock off of Mycroft to stop him from killing his own brother.

“You put the life of the woman I love in danger!” Sherlock shouted as he tried to make a grab on Mycroft again when the later struggled to get back to his feet, nose bloodied.

“Sherlock, enough,” John chided him.

“Thank you, Doctor Watson,” Mycroft said, wiping away the blood that was dripping from his nose.

“Oh no, we’re not done,” John said, standing between the bothers. “As much as I like to bash your face in today, we can’t do that now. Don’t think we’re done, Mycroft. We’re not, not even close.”

“Molly!” Sherlock turned to the screen in panic to find Eurus’ looking pleased with herself.

“Oh don’t worry, I was never going to let her die,” she said in her matter-of-fact tone that was getting to Sherlock. “Why would I be so clumsy.”

“Let her go, Eurus,” Sherlock demanded. “I win. You have your answer, let her go and don’t you dare lay a finger on Mary.”

“You didn’t win, Sherlock,” Eurus replied. “You lost. Look at what you did to yourself. All those complicated little emotions. I lost count. Emotional context, Sherlock. It destroys you every time.”

Sherlock pressed his eyes close, swallowing hard. He knew Eurus was right just as he was certain bruises would form on his hands tomorrow. Yet, she wasn’t done with them. Whatever little game Eurus was playing, it was far from over. He braced himself as he listened to her.

Surely enough, arrogantly, Eurus demanded him to dance to her tune. “Now, please, pull yourself together.I need you at peak efficiency. The next one isn’t going to be so easy,”

He turned on his heels, watching the scattered papers and pictures in the room. He didn’t know what he would be facing next, all he knew was that he had to get finish it, get out and keep her safe.

“Sherlock,” John came to his side. “Look, I know this is difficult and I know you’re being tortured, but you have got to keep it together.”

“This isn’t torture; this is vivisection. We’re experiencing science from the perspective of lab rats,” he hissed his reply to his friend before turning. “Soldiers?”

John nodded. “Soldiers.”


End file.
